


Simple Messages

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: It Began on the Citadel (Yoga AU) [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Yoga, C-Sec (Mass Effect), F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sex, Pre-Canon, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Randomness, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Spacer (Mass Effect), Yoga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: What happens after Garrus and Shepard meet up in a yoga class, have a night of fantastic sex, and then go on with their lives on the Citadel? Will he actually send her a message, or just file the night away under "Flexible?" What happens when Saren goes rogue a year later?Follow up to the night of the Yoga AU,"Are you flexible anywhere?"but keeping each snippet to <500 words as a challenge.
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: It Began on the Citadel (Yoga AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874605
Comments: 55
Kudos: 76





	1. Small Wonders

**Author's Note:**

> Majorly NSFW chapters will be marked with *

Steam curled out through Garrus’s mandibles as he tipped back another sip of _saleffer._ The hot, savory drink was fueling his contemplative mood, as was the alcohol. He hadn’t slept yet, but Shepard had been gone for hours. He’d straightened the couch, flipping the scraped edge of the one cushion to the back, out of sight. A damp spot on the arched backrest showed where their bodies had marked the fabric with sex and weapons oil. Easier to clean off the dark grey fabric than from his mind. 

_I still can’t believe that we went so far, or that it went so well. We talked for hours, and about the strangest things. It was fantastic. And black night, the sex! I can almost feel myself pressed between her thighs. So different, but so much the same. The way that she trusted me, despite everything we’ve both been told, all the battles we’ve fought against each other’s people…_ his thoughts trailed off, going through the same patterns they had a dozen times already. 

It was the trust she had placed in him, the path they had taken from ‘instantly on guard’ to ‘ohh, do that again.’ That was what burned through him. He had started the night chastised for being culturally insensitive and ended it with gaining the incredibly intimate trust of a human woman he’d just met… and a budding friendship. Maybe. 

Garrus tapped his omni-tool, returning to the extranet page he’d been reading. He leaned back into the perfectly turian-shaped curve of the small window seat in his apartment, the orange glow of the display still coloring his face in the pre-dawn light. He swiped back to Shepard’s public military record and fitted the _saleffer_ bottle to his mouth, tipping back a long drink. _Small wonder she’s an Alliance paragon. Mother’s a well-respected dreadnought captain, father was awarded the Star of Terra posthumously after he died negotiating a treaty that halted a nuclear war. Shepard herself survived a thresher maw attack and two weeks injured in the wilds of Akuze…_

_Maybe I_ _will_ _send Shepard a message. No idea what a human expects after a night like that. Not sure what I expect, to be honest._

Respect and contentment had been rolling through his _cantica_ all night, rippled through with a heady edge of raw enthusiasm that he didn’t quite understand. _Hmm. Maybe it’s just the foam off this saleffer going to my head. I should get some sleep before work, only a few hours left._ He headed to his workbench instead.


	2. Edge

_Holy shit, what a night!_

Jane called a skycab back to her apartment, which was halfway to the opposite end of Tayseri Ward. The trip only took about 15 minutes even at ‘night’ speeds, but her mind didn’t stop stalking around that one primary thought the entire time. She had spent the entire evening with a turian she’d just met, and it had been a fucking amazing night. 

She toed off her boots the minute she got home, rebelliously aligning them neatly under the edge of the bar-like table in what passed for a kitchen at her apartment. 

They had laughed, chatted, and drank like good friends. Vakarian had talked with her like a damn person and a fellow soldier, not like a child or a leech that they had to tolerate on the Citadel. He had dove off a cliff with her, dealing with the talon-threat issue like it was a personal quest instead of a random person’s bullshit. 

_I won’t ever forget the look in his eyes, that hard edge, that passion and determination. Without that I don’t think I would have had sex with him. He saw a problem and dove after it._

Sex and sweat scented clothing was stripped off on the way into her bedroom, bouncing off the wall and into the wash chute for the washer/dryer combo in the wall of the small room. Jane tossed back the sheets and sprawled into bed naked, not caring that her shower at Vakarian’s had been brief and oddly sandy. She crashed hard, only one final thought before morning: _Damn near the best sex I’ve had, too._

Jane stretched herself awake at default early-morning-soldier time, arms and legs reaching in opposite directions like some old nude DaVinci drawing, before rolling smoothly out of bed. _Oh boy…_ She held in a groan of protest and took stock of the aftermath of spontaneous, incredible sex with a 7-ft tall, plated, turian Adonis. The inside of both thighs had mild friction burns despite the weapons lube, and the bathroom mirror showed a similar mark across her upper back from the couch. Generic medi-gel soothed the sting, but she knew it would take some yoga to ease the ache from her muscles. _I swear I can feel Vakarian’s cock with each twinge in my hips._ She knew a good ache from bad though, and this was definitely the best kind of ache.

Looking over her shoulder into the mirror, Jane poked experimentally at the back of her left shoulder. Two small bruises had blossomed, a few inches apart. A third marked just over her collarbone - the talons of Vakarian’s thumb and fingers, from his climax at the end of the night. _Damn. I don’t remember being afraid of him at all._

Ice blue eyes and stark, bold clan markings flashed into her mind, turning her lips up in a warm smile that only graced an empty room. Jane activated her omni-tool and tapped out a quick message to Vakarian.

_ JMS: [No regrets.] _


	3. Back at Work

A ping lit his omni-tool just as Garrus opened the door of his C-Sec skycar, parked around the corner from his apartment building. Officers were assigned a section of ward where they were required to live, where their routine responsibilities lay. Even detectives patrolled a beat every morning on their way to their station, whether it was the main station in the Presidium or one of the dozens of outlying stations along the five wards. His path crisscrossed this quarter of Kayseri residential district, then he took a straight path in the central transit lanes.

The message flickered into view when he tapped the inbox.

_Jane Shepard: [No regrets.]_

A chord of cocky pride rippled into his _cantica_ , quickly followed by a warble of uncertainty. _How do I respond to that?_ He mulled it over throughout his uneventful patrol, finally swiping out a response as he threaded his way into the halls of C-Sec Academy. Matching Shepard for brevity and topic seemed best.

_GV: [Good for both of us then.]_

The officer’s entrance from the parking level bypassed the atrium to lead directly past the Executor’s and Captain’s offices. He didn’t see anyone and Captain Seliric’s door was closed.

“Vakarian!” Pallin must have been watching for his access code, knowing he was on duty this morning. 

“Yes Sir?” Garrus’s _cantica_ automatically hummed with a low chord of respect, projecting an easy confidence as he halted in Pallin’s open doorway. It was always open this early, and remained so unless he was on a private call or someone outside the force came in. Then the door slid shut with a silent snap. 

“Elarien said, and I quote, ‘he was a terror and a _nobilis._ Fell over three times and got on remarkably well with one of my human regulars’.” Pallin’s deep brown mandibles flicked out in amusement that bled into his _cantica_ , but his blue-green eyes were cool and assessing, as always. “Did you learn anything?” 

“Yeah.” _Of course Pallin knows the matron at the yoga studio..._ Garrus flared one mandible out in a cocky grin. “Yeah, I learned a lot.” 

“Good.” Pallin’s white-marked face plates narrowed around his eyes, but he didn’t question Garrus further. “Don’t make me keep reminding you this isn’t the colonies, Vakarian.” 

“I won’t, Sir.” Garrus replied crisply, striding out of the Executor’s office when the older turian dismissed him with a quick flick of one hand.

The main offices radiated out from the far end of the corridor, with their usual sporadic bustle of uniformed C-Sec officers arriving, leaving, and shuffling data pads. The desk beside his own had been empty for three weeks, but this morning it held a human with skin a deeper brown than Pallin’s. The man stood when he saw Garrus approach and set his helmet in its usual place on the corner of his desk. 

“Constable Reid, Rashaun Reid, Sir.” Reid’s voice was deep, resonant and confident. The man stuck out a hand in greeting as Garrus looked him up and down. _This guy’s nearly as broad as I am. Still a foot shorter though._ He hesitated only briefly before clasping the human’s hand, letting him ‘shake’ it in the usual greeting. 

“I take it I have a new partner, Reid?” Garrus quipped, but it was curiosity instead of annoyance that rippled into his _cantica._ Shepard’s words echoed in his mind as Reid nodded. _‘You are the first turian I’ve ever seen really laugh.’_ “Tell me about yourself.” Instructions on proper filing of paperwork could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _nobilis_ \- noble, gentleman, aristocrat


	4. Jiva

Jane had given herself an hour of idly checking mail and browsing the news on a datapad, determined that the Citadel’s day was at least going to start before she did on her day off. However… she sat up in bed and knuckled her lower back for the third time, wincing. _Not going away without effort, Jane._ She pulled on a set of simple, sporty underwear - black boyshorts and a red racerback bra with thin straps - and strolled out into the main room. Her small apartment had the same type of slightly rubbery flooring as Vakarian’s, just dark blue instead of grey. It was damn near perfect for yoga, even if it was just Citadel interspecies standard.

 _I wonder if he had anything else customized for turians that I missed,_ Jane mused as she swiped through music on the tiny wall console. She usually played some type of environmental soundtrack with yoga, shorebirds or babbling streams from one of the colonies or back on Earth. She could rarely tell the difference, since she’d spent most of her life jumping between Alliance outposts with her parents. Jane’s finger hovered over one of the search results, then she shrugged and tapped on _“Cloud Jungle and Winds - Southern Aquileia, Palaven.”_

A low rumble and quiet susurrus of wind rolled into the room. Jane settled her feet shoulder width apart in her usual space between the couch and the kitchen bartop where she’d left her shoes, wishing for the thousandth time that she’d found an apartment with a window. She let her weight fall forward, catching herself with a sharp slap of hands on the floor. _Braaak, brak brak brak braaaaak!_ Some type of bird-frog-like noise creaked at her from Palaven as she flowed up into a chevron shape, taking stock of her aches, breathing through the familiar movement.

 _Thighs and hips will be fine, just sore._ She flexed her knees, hips rocking from side to side, then walked her hands back toward her rooted feet, ponytailed hair brushing the floor. Jane rounded her shoulders, scrunching her face as the scraped skin on her back pulled. Not only did her lower back also try seizing up in protest, she noticed a bruise arching across her right ankle. _Vakarian has definitely not handled humans much… or was he just that into it that he didn't realize he hurt me? Well… I didn’t notice either. Was paying far more attention to his cock, and those eyes. So glad he was willing to talk through things instead of bulling ahead. Wonder if he’s like that with turian lovers too._

The wind rustled the leaves, which sounded huge somehow, scraping slowly against each other as a backdrop to the chattery ‘brak brak’ creature. Jane stepped her feet out so they were wider than her shoulders, then dropped her rear toward the floor into a deep squat, hands still on the floor. Her nostrils flared as she breathed out hard, adjusting her feet automatically as she reveled in the powerful stretch. Jane lifted her hands smoothly, tucking her elbows inside her knees, palms together. 

_Damn. This is always a fantastic asana after sex, but stars... that feels incredible. Fuck me._ She laughed at her own thoughts, then breathed deeply into her lower back and hips, back stretching long and straight as she let her eyes lose focus. She couldn’t help but recall the sight of Vakarian between her thighs last night, all leathery grey plates and tough brown skin. _The stretch in my hips was good then too._ She flexed her thighs, still balanced in malasana, tightening her core so that her shoulders and back took more of the stretch. _One more breath and then-_

 _Braaaak-CRUNCH._ The monotonous call cut off in a crash of foliage tearing and Jane flinched, falling backward onto her ass with a grunt. _Kiiaahhh! Kiaaahh kiah kiah kiaaaaaah!!_ She glared at the speaker blasting the presumed predator’s cry of triumph. _Crazy turians…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, the yoga sequence Jane is doing is the beginning of Jivamukti Spiritual Warrior.


	5. Coldbox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coldbox? More like grumpy box.

Five days. Garrus had made it through five Citadel days without yelling at his new human partner, Reid. He’d maybe growled a little when the man tried to file half-filled paperwork. And perhaps the irritation in his _cantica_ yesterday had been enough to rile Cassus three desks over, but you simply _did not_ strip and clean your pistol at your desk. 

This afternoon he’d finally snapped. Half the office heard him verbally tear Reid to tiny shreds when he returned to the desk and found him examining his helmet. Without permission. Behind his back. His. Personal. Helmet. Garrus’s _cantica_ flared with a low, furious rumble that rolled in the back of his throat, echoing in his chest. _Don’t humans have any common sense?_ He snatched open the coldbox in his apartment, angrily searching for some leftover takeout, _saleffer_ , _kali_ berries - something, anything to take his mind of the stupid human messing with his helmet. 

The only substantial item in the coldbox was the metal can of levo beer the Shepard woman had left behind. Garrus glared at it, pushed it farther to the side, and snatched at the bowl of green _kali_ berries. _Bet Shepard would have at least asked. Proper soldier, not an Earth-bound cop from ‘Shi-cah-go.’_ He shut the door with a hiss of seals and stalked to the couch, stretching his long legs out with a sigh. 

Garrus skewered two berries with a slim, two-pronged utensil. Technically it was only supposed to be used for meat, but his father wasn’t here to wither him with a disappointed look. He snaked out his tongue, pulling the berries off to be crushed in a satisfactory burst of tart juice at the back of his mouth. _Surely Reid will stop making stupid decisions at the office eventually… He seemed almost competent when we went out to collect the Marilin district robbery testimony yesterday. Good amount of intimidation for getting answers, but with a smile and a laugh that doesn’t scare humans. Not like mine._

He bit down on another berry with an exasperated rumble. _Humans just aren’t as good at this as we are. They’re too reckless, too many mistakes far too quickly. Can’t they follow the rules for a century or two, at least?_


	6. Broth and Bubbles

Shepard stared at her omni-tool as she sat on a bench, eating lunch at the Alliance training grounds. _Huh. Never would have guessed that._ A slow grin spread across her face, replacing incredulity. She tapped out “turian alcoholic drinks” and a few minutes searching through the resulting list only added a sparkle of amusement to her expression. _It’s not just that saleffer one that smokes. Nearly three-quarters of turian alcoholic drinks are basically tea or broth!_

A young cadet winked at Shepard as she ran by the bench, taking her smile as admiration, probably. Her eyes followed the bronze-skinned runner’s short, lean form for half a dozen paces before snapping back to her omni-tool. _She has good form, and a little appreciation goes a long way sometimes._ Not for the first time, she considered the complicated nature of putting dozens of young people in close quarters for years and hyping up their stress and adrenaline… then expecting them to stay chill and not alternate between killing or fucking half the people they worked with. 

_“Isn’t that half the reason you ended up at Vakarian’s last week?_ ” said a snarkily honest part of Shepard. _Not half anyway. Maybe a quarter…. a large quarter._ She stood and headed back inside the CO’s building. _Well. I’m at least going to have a little fun before I’m stuck in a ‘ground vehicle maneuverability and safety’ training for three hours._ She typed confidently as the pale blue grass rushed by beneath her ground-eating strides. 

JMS: [Why are all turian alcoholic drinks basically tea or bone broth?] 

The answer appeared during ‘traction basics.’ She understood why this was required training every two years, but comprehension made the information no less repetitive. 

Vakarian: [The new rookie detective I’ve been partnered with enjoyed providing context for this great example of human oddity. So thanks, I guess. If you only searched for drinks similar to _saleffer,_ you missed everything sweet. Why do some cultures think ‘tea’ is weak? Or that alcohol cannot be food? _Liquidium pulli_ is delicious.]

“A 40-degree slope, Ma’am!” a big cadet barked back at the instructor’s question. 

JMS: [That translates as “liquid chicken.” I now doubt your status as a member of C-Sec.] 

Vakarian: [Too bad humans can’t appreciate the flavor. You apparently aren’t calibrated right. The rookie says it tastes like dirt. A bar bet that he survived, apparently.] 

JMS: [Thanks for that sage insight, detective. Go drink your leaves and chicken.]


	7. Alien Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus gets a glimpse of just how bad racism can be, even within one species.

It had been nearly a month since Shepard had last sent a message. Thankfully, the resulting conversation with Reid, Garrus's new human trainee-detective, had smoothed more than a few rough edges off of their relationship. _It's as though having random conversations fills cracks in the reality of life. Gaps that the extranet can't._ He finished tapping out a message, swiped to send it, then tossed back the last swallow of his drink.

> GV: [Hypothetically speaking, if someone from your planet, from a city called Chicago, says that "looking like this isn't as bad as it used to be," what do they mean? Please, Shepard. Help me understand why the rookie is obsessing over turian and asari color patterns. I swear, nothing about certain colors and human cities was covered in C-Sec training.]

Garrus's lunch break had been particularly busy today, since he had stopped by the food market to schedule a new order to pick up after work. It wasn't that he minded takeout, but the lack of snacks at his apartment was annoying. He reviewed footage in the evidence room, losing half of the afternoon before his omni-tool pinged with Shepard's reply.

> Jane Shepard: [Relevant Question - does the rookie have dark brown or nearly black skin?]
> 
> GV: [Yes, which probably means the color obsession is linked to human skin colors. Prejudice?]
> 
> Jane Shepard: [Bingo. Yes. Your rookie is part of a group of humans that were racially subjugated for hundreds of years on Earth. Enslaved, prevented from having jobs, underpaid, killed by police... it was bad. Not a pleasant story from human history. Look up anti-Black racism on Earth, twentieth century if you want more. Chicago had a larger than usual Black population for the country and a troubled history with racism.]
> 
> GV: [Ah. Thanks. I'll look into it.]

Garrus sighed, letting his worry flood, warbling and high-pitched, into his _cantica_. It wasn't as though anyone was in the digital forensics lab to hear him. _Well, crap. Reid is probably worried about the same problems on the Citadel. It isn't that bad here. It's not like asari with different skin colors are treated differently, it's just based on their parents. It's just biology._ He mulled the issue over as another hour of evidence scrolled by with nothing more noteworthy than four minor traffic violations. Nothing tied to the case, and that was the end of the relevant time frame. What he _had_ seen was a wide variety of people walking around in the shopping district: Asari of at least four different skin colors, three shades of drell scales, more than six different plate/hide combinations on turians, and yes, at least five different skin tones on humans. _And that's not even counting the color of their hair, or turian clan markings._

Instead of Shepard's search string, he entered 'asari, skin color prejudice' into an extranet search on the computer. _Damn._ The results were far more extensive than he expected. Sometimes the match between parentage and skin color was muddied by alternating generations - turian father and krogan grandfather, for instance - but there were patterns. "Overcoming the Red Rift: A Krogan Daughter's Story" caught his eye, but this was far from the only story of prejudice. He skipped over anything on ardat-yakshi, that seemed to be a rare case, not one to build expectations on.

Nothing could have prepared Garrus for the horrifying results that appeared when he entered Shepard's search. Nearly half a millennium of war, enslavement, and subjugation, all targeting humans with dark skin tones, and the blacker they were the worse they were treated. Some of the examples he saw weren't even particularly dark, only a medium tan like his own hide, not the near-ebony of Reid's skin. "It's just biology" was a shallow defense when people decided you were a demon. When looking a little different meant deceit, poverty, or even death. When your children joined gangs because school teachers treated them like criminals.

Leather creaked over the knuckles of his clenched fist, breaking his focus. Unclenching battle-ready muscles that matched the indignant fury rumbling in his _cantica,_ Garrus cleared his throat. _Well great. Definitely need to go blow off some steam at the range now._

> GV: [If humans still acted like that, I don't think the Relay 314 incident would have been the end of conflict with the turians.]
> 
> Jane Shepard: [I wish it was a shorter period in human history. At least it _is_ history. Far enough back that it ended over four generations ago.]
> 
> GV: [Good.]


	8. Angles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus attends an all-turian yoga class. Suggestive themes.
> 
> Thanks to  DispatchwithLove for betaing this chapter!

Garrus stared through the arch formed by the waist of the turian balanced on the long mat in front of him. She was short and lean, slender for a turian with sharp, crisp spurs and long-- he dragged his eyes away from her thighs with an effort, stifling the low rumble of admiration flaring into his _cantica._ Instead, he sighed out a deep breath and settled his weight more firmly onto his right hand and foot. His body arched sideways along the yoga mat, arms spread wide, chest to the front of the room.

He'd been convinced to attend this all-turian class by one of the officers down in narcotics, Melrin, who _conveniently_ had to work late tonight. 'My favorite place to meditate and meet people after work, Vakarian. You'll see!'

"Drop onto both hands and feet, re-centering yourself before opening your chest to the back wall." The turian instructor spoke with the same types of phrases as the asari matron from all those weeks ago, he'd noticed.

Garrus spread his hands on the mat, talons digging into the thick, scarred rubber. These mats see much more frequent use too. I'm not the lone turian here. He stretched long, flexing the tightness from all three joints of his legs, keel nearly brushing the floor. Spirits, this is easier than the human version with my knees bent.

He reversed the pose with everyone else, reaching his right hand toward the ceiling and balancing on his left hand and foot. Honed instincts said someone was watching him. Was it the female turian with the tan hide? The one he had been staring at? He tensed as a hand touched his back, a light press of fingers on the thick plates.

"Tighten your core, focusing on creating a straight line along your keel through to your feet. No curves." The instructor's voice sounded from directly behind him, a single talon tapping low on his back. He glanced down his body, bare chest showing the smooth silvered line of his keel... he tightened the muscles along his left hip up through his stomach, lifting his hips into line. A quick, high ripple of approval ran through the instructor's _cantica,_ talons leaving his back as they strode away.

"Good. Come to a seated position on your mat and face one of the people behind or in front of you."

Garrus nearly choked on the flare of arousal that burned through him when he turned to find the tan turian facing him, one long leg cocked up underneath her elbow, talons on the floor. She was shirtless, with snug, high-waisted shorts that bared her lower legs, covering far less than would have been considered decent anywhere in Cipritine, he was quite certain.

"Amralia," she spoke, her voice light, warm with only the slightest rumble of polite interest and introduction.

"Garrus." He deliberately neglected to give his surname. Guilt immediately tried to flare into his subvocals, but there were times he tired of always being 'A Vakarian'. She didn't give her surname either, he reminded himself firmly, directing his eyes at anything but the smooth, dusky bronze line of her keel disappearing into her waistband. Or the sleek points of her short crest. Or the curve of... He decided staring vaguely at her lean, well-muscled legs was acceptable since they were extending into his space.

"Now, align your feet and reach your hands toward your partner's hands."

Spirits, this was the same damn position he'd ended up in with Shepard. It was far worse - or better, certainly more familiar - with another turian's taloned feet pressed to his, so he spent the remainder of the class trying to think of anything else. It certainly didn't help to think of Shepard, it was too easy to picture Amralia's hips in his hands, legs wrapped around his waist like Shepard had done, arched against back of his couch. Hmm. Well, another turian wouldn't wrap both their legs around his waist, just one, but... Was he ever going to think about yoga without recalling that night?

The other turian leaned toward him, hands sliding up his forearms as she stretched. Neatly trimmed talons pressed lightly against the softer skin near his elbows. Damn, her arms felt good in his hands too... amused irritation sounded softly in Amralia's _cantica,_ and he quickly chirruped an unrepentant apology as they reversed positions. The irritation faded with a soft, breathy laugh as he stared at her ankles. Well, she _was_ very attractive, but she'd also given no indication she was interested in him. Was that just because she was focused on the yoga class? Maybe he'd find out afterward... again.

Garrus tried to focus as well, mentally listing every part of his old customized Avenger rifle twice. He stripped and lubricated every relevant piece of the weapon in his head... which recalled the mixed scents of sex and weapons oil on his skin. A backdrop of hot, heavy breathing from a limber human body, tangled together with his own. Shepard had still smelled faintly of his gun oil even after her shower in his apartment... Great. Now guns were making him thinking of that night with Shepard too. Amralia nudged his foot with her own; he mirrored her shift in position and continued failing to distract himself from the gorgeous angles before his eyes... and from Shepard's incredible curves in his head.


End file.
